An Interview with Miranda Lambert

It's mid-afternoon, and Lambert, who's visiting New York City, has already sung on Good Morning America and performed with the Pistol Annies on The View. She's now tucked in a chair in the lobby of a swank hotel, with her new Coach handbag parked next to her. "I had a fake snakeskin purse that was falling apart. I couldn't go on TV looking like white trash with fake snakeskin flakes on me," she says, brushing imaginary debris off her arm. Lambert has changed out of what she calls her usual "hillbilly" garb  a sundress and vintage cowboy boots  but still looks plenty country, wearing a denim shirt over a man's tank top and gold sandals with a pair of bright-pink shorts. The color matches her sparkly nail polish, her iPhone case, and those Chanel shades.

These days, Lambert may have the luxury of buying designer sunglasses, but it isn't something she will ever take for granted. "I do appreciate every single dollar I earn," she says.

Here's why: Early on, Lambert learned that life could be harsh. The firstborn of Rick and Bev Lambert, who worked as well-paid self-employed private investigators, she spent her early years in Van Alstyne, TX, outside of Dallas. "My younger brother, Luke, and I had a nanny; Mom and Dad drove new cars and had a brand-new house built," Lambert recalls. But the economy took a dip. "People didn't really have the money to spend on private investigators," she explains, "and my parents weren't getting enough work to keep up."

Lambert was 6  "old enough," she says, "to feel the pain of knowing when something is totally wrong." Falling behind on their mortgage, "my parents lost everything they had...we were homeless," Lambert says matter-of-factly. "Our whole world turned upside down." Fortunately, an uncle took them in, and for two years, Lambert shared a room with her cousin and wore clothes sewn by her mother or bought at Goodwill. Leaving behind her old and more prosperous life, relocating, and attending a new school threw the sensitive young girl into a tailspin. "She would cry every day," her mother has recalled.

It was equally tough on Lambert's dad. "He went to a dark place where he felt like a failure," the singer remembers. "And we actually didn't really see him that much because he was always going back and forth to Dallas trying to get jobs. He was determined to get back on his feet, so it was hard for us to see him. He missed us, and we missed him, so much."

Although Lambert's mom had a first grader and a toddler to look after, she was equally dedicated to rebuilding the family business, providing her daughter with a valuable lesson about persistence. "I know it's not that they weren't working or trying. Sometimes you just get down on your luck," says Lambert. "And I learned so much from that."

A close connection to God helped keep the family together. "My mom always says I cut my teeth on the church pew," says Lambert, who was involved in youth groups and sang in the choir. Small jobs came along  sometimes her father even dug ditches for $4 an hour  and eventually, by the time Lambert was 10, the family was able to rent a small house in rural Lindale, TX.

"Dad was like, 'My family will never be hungry again.' And so he started a subsistence farm," Lambert recalls. "We didn't go to the store for anything but milk. My mom made bread and canned everything from the garden. We had chickens, pigs, and rabbits. My dad hunted. We literally lived off the land. There's something to be said for taking advantage of what God's given you."

Living modestly on the farm, the family restored the sense of security that had suddenly vanished when they'd lost their home. With love and encouragement, Lambert blossomed. "My mom was always saying: 'Be whatever you want to be, but stick with it. Don't waver. Don't change who you are for anybody.' It was sewn into me to be a confident, strong woman," she says. From her father, she adds, she learned to be a good judge of character and "to always look over my shoulder."

Lambert's parents did not shelter her from their work, which they picked up again once they were on their farm. As investigators, they kept tabs on cheating spouses in marriages shattered by infidelity and, in worse cases, domestic violence. The Lamberts took battered women and children into their own home, and it left a lasting impression on their daughter, who realized what a solid union her parents had. "I saw my friends' moms coming in at 2 A.M. with black eyes," she recalls with a wince. "They'd share a room with me. What my family [gave them] was that initial first step: 'Get away from this crazy person, and get back on your feet.' I witnessed it firsthand."

Lambert channeled the pain and pent-up fury she'd observed into hard-rocking songs that were game changers in country music. In the video for "Kerosene," which became her first big hit in 2006, Lambert torches the house of a cheating lover; in her signature song, "Gunpowder & Lead," she tells the story of a woman who's going home to load her shotgun and settle a score with the man who has beaten her.

This tough-as-nails stance continues to earn Lambert admiration and stir controversy. In the wake of Chris Brown's Grammy win earlier this year, she reminded the world via Twitter that the singer had assaulted his former girlfriend Rihanna. Later that week, before singing "Gunpowder & Lead" at a concert, she held up a sign that read Take notes, Chris Brown. "Where I come from, beating up on a woman is never OK," she said shortly after the concert, later adding, "I like to say what I think, and if it happens to push buttons, sorry."

Good Housekeeping already has an account with this email address. Link your account to use Facebook to sign in to Good Housekeeping. To insure we protect your account, please fill in your password below.

Your information has been saved and an account has been created for you giving you full access to everything goodhousekeeping.com and Hearst Digital Media Network have to offer. To change your username and/or password or complete your profile, click here.